Birthday Flu

I know that nobody is perfect. Despite what others may think, I do not feel as if I am some part of an elitist network brought to this Earth to look down upon the "less fortunate." Doing so would mean that I have a vast amount of tangible wealth that I burn to warm my enema solution. This isn't the case and no matter what you read from this point on, please understand that I am not better than anyone else.

That being said, I took my son to a birthday party on Saturday. That in itself is nothing more than an activity, except if you were present when I pulled up, you may have thought otherwise. Aside from the lack of public roads on the way to this party, despite the primal nature of the house in which this party was located, along with the striking resemblance of the "Honey Boo Boo set" or the simple fact that the man who welcomed Jacob and I caused a flashback to the movie "Deliverance" minus the ass sex and squealing pig reference (although when we were leaving there was a guitar being played)...let's just say I almost got back in the car and backed out of the "driveway" and headed home.

My first red flag was the above described locale of this event. West Richland, in and of itself, is mostly visible traveling three roads...Van Giesen, Bombing Range Road and whatever road Enterprise Middle School is on. This road, the one in most Stephen King novels traveled just prior to the main character DYING, was paved although it resembled more of a walking path than a road. I saw more ravens and hookers than I did anything else. It was one car width wide and no lights to speak of. I figured once I reached the end of the road I was either going to (A) get ass raped by a grizzly bear or (B) see A, followed by a disembowelment/BBQ. To my surprise, neither happened and I pulled into the house from psycho.

I was greeted by a flannel, torn jeans and breath that caused my knees to buckle from the fumes. ACME Pest Control could hook this dude up to a hose and his exhales alone would kill a cock roach and as anyone from Nagasaki can tell you, that's not easy. Apparently I was in the right place because there was a house and a child there but nothing else. How comforting. There were no balloons or banners or other children. But of course, Mr. point three three should be taken at face value when he says "Jacob can go on in...all the women are in there getting things ready." Getting what ready? A boiling pot and a spit to roast my kid on? I was thankful that Jacob was up to date on his immunizations because I am pretty sure there was Hepatitis at this house.

I went to go inside the house and was asked to stay outside and "hang with the guys." I was offered a beer. I politely declined. "what are you, some sort of Republican pussy?" Hmmmmm....the list of responses was long:


- No, it's just 3PM and I am driving the heir to my massively large fortune around the greenbelt from hell and I need to maintain my focus.


- And compete with you? I don't stand a chance since you seem to have been drunk since 1982


- No, I haven't had Keystone Light since college when I could only afford shitty beer


- I need to keep my wits about me so I can avoid catching any STD's from your toilet


- I appreciate the offer but Moroni is watching


As opposed to the above I told him that, although I will most likely be voting Republican as the current political climate, as least as it pertained to my personal beliefs, warranted a change at the top of the political pyramid, however in reference to me being a pussy, I had to disagree as I clearly represented more of a dick than any sort of internal dwelling reproductive organ...but did inform him that he was entitled to his opinion. I am not sure which eye remained locked on my eye(s), but he sat down without saying another word.

All of the above happened between 2:55PM and 3:10PM. The party went from 3:00 to 5:00 and I can assure you that I watched the clock from 2:55 on. I texted my whereabouts to my wife and sister-in-law and told them if I did not return to the house by 5:15PM or were not able to be reached that the scene of the crime was no doubt going to be at the party's location.

My son will never spend the night here. Yes, their kid will most likely suffer because he will not have a lot of friends that are allowed to have a play date. Seriously, though...when I have to balance the likelihood my son will come back to me worse off than he was when he left to go "play," I have to draw the line somewhere. There were just too many sins going on in one house. It was one skank short of Moulin Rouge. Oddly enough, Jacob had a 102 degree fever on Sunday.


I wonder why?

State of the Nation

Republican, Democrat, Independent, Green Party, Sons of Liberty, Sons of Anarchy or any other "political" party will not help this nation until some basic programming changes are made. Get rid of Honey Boo Boo. Doesn't our television programming reflect our nation? It is broadcast worldwide for fuck sake. Is this something we want to advertise? Dumpster diving pays thousands of dollars an hour. So does the sibling contest of gaining weight. Fastest to fat is still fat. Why are we glorifying the aesthetically challenged? Ugly people do not win beauty contests, let alone go. I am all for boosting a child's self-esteem, but when society gets around to finishing the job, do you want to face the consequences of your blowing smoke up their ass for the first 10-years of life? Maybe increase their vocabulary through reading more challenging books? Work on expanding their mathematical prowess through homework excellence? It's disturbing how far our standards have fallen when it comes to deciding what is entertainment. If I knew that acting like a dumbass paid large amounts of money, I would have submitted my life tape years ago. This is now.....entertaining.... Now, some will say "what were you doing watching it?" I wasn't. I didn't last the three minutes required to become a viewer statistic. The 2 minutes I saw made Jersey Shore look like a Nova program. Haven't seen the show or are a little skeptic of my analogy? Here are some quotes: 1. Mama explains vaginas: "It's called a biscuit because it looks like a biscuit and it opens up." - Anddddd there goes breakfast... 2. Mama eye-rolls at the haters: "No one can be proper and etiquettely all the time." - How about maybe just doing it on Mondays? 3. Mama teaches sex ed: "All that boy wants is to get in your little biscuit, get a little piece, and he’s running." - Thanksgiving is cancelled this year.... I found these by googling "Honey Boo quotes," but could have easily found them by googling "why do 3rd world countries hate America?" There is so much more to say about this...however....I am too busy looking through the neighobr's trash and my camera tripod keeps moving. Can't wait to send this in to TLC so I can make $10,000 an hour.

Helicopters

I don't mean the kind used to fight fires or get people to the hospital in a timely manner. I don't even mean the parents of kids that come into the ER. Well, I kind of do. Why bring the kid to the ER if you have every intentin of brow beating the doctor who is both mentally and psychologically capable of providing the right diagnosis? Seriously, stay home. They won't mind and neither will the nurses who are trying to assist your child. Oh you tried this very thing at home? Really? With this equipment and this strength medicine? Stop. Now. before you have to check in with a broken nose.

Today's specific reference has to do with children of the elderly. Family members who have checked a loved one in to our facility for care. I understand this person is important to you. I get it. Believe it or not, I have parents I love too and would be just as concerned as you are in reference to the quality of care they receive. However, I understand the human body better than you do. At 88 years old, the bowels do not move daily, at least not usually. So if you're Dad did not shit today, thats OK. He doesn't need an enema. He doesn't need to go to the ER for an x-ray to see if he is impacted. Do you see him laying there sleeping? This is indicative of comfort, not pain. I don't mind educating people on shit. At this point in my career, its what I do best. But please take my word for it. Or else....this happens.

Son - My Dad usually poops 3 times a day. He has ever since he was an embryo, at least that is what grandma says.

Me - was this before or after grandma's stroke?

Son - Huh?

Me - Nothing. Looking at the bowel log, it looks like your Dad pooped twice yesterday and twice this morning.

Son - OMG! Should we call 911?!?!?!?!?

Me - For the stench?

Son - No, because he needs to shit! He is all backed up! His eyes are brown. His hair is darkening. He looks miserable.

Me - He's sleeping....soundly.

Son - I KNOWWWWW but he is in pain!!!!

Me - Hmmmm....sleeping and pain don't go together. Kind of like common sense and...well, you.

Son - I'm calling the ambulance.


If I am not digitally stimulating enough for some people, the ER doc sure will be. IF this person went to the hospital with complaints of constipation, I would get a call from the doctor asking me why they were sent to the ER.

Helicopters.

To which I would be asked to come in for a psych eval. It doesn't make much sense. I know you love your Dad...I love your Dad, especially pooping two times a day. It's great. He is happy, I am happy....everyone is happy. But you aren't happy and that is concerning. It makes me wonder what happens when he goes home with you during the day. What exactly are you doing to this man's poor rectum?

"My Dad said he pooped 5 hours ago! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE?!"

Feeding and bathing him? Making him comfortable? I'm so sorry about that. Tomorrow we will be feeding him some shards of glass to give his poop color. That better? It will be like confetti. Some black and some red mixed in. Almost like Mardi Gras but different.

So please let me do my job and stop calling me at 3AM asking me if your Dad pooped today. My answer, undoubtedly will be yes...without looking. If you ask how many times, it will be 11. I know its an arbitrary number, but it is sufficient. He will be dehydrated after that many shits but you are too stupid to understand that and, at his age, dehydration is more concerning than multiple bowel movements per day. I don't expect a helicopter to understand that. Except on PBS.

I don't expect things to change...ever. At least until discharge, which I hope occurred over the weekend. We are, after all, like Holiday Inn Express....minus the wireless Internet.

Sometimes, you just know...

When you know, you know.

That statement is valid for a lot of reasons. I remember hitting home runs in baseball that, as soon as contact was made, I knew it was going to fly over the fence. I knew that, when I was sick, I was going to be OK and that my family was going to be OK. I just knew. When I began this process of nursing school, I knew going in that it was something that I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I just knew.

You all might have something similar in your lives that you know without a doubt. Me being a tool might be one of them. That's OK. At least you know. Knowing is more than half the battle. Passion is the other part. When you have both, it makes decisions regarding that area in your life easy to make. Like I said, you just know.

Going through school, through clinicals and lecture, you have people watching you, directing you, making sure that you aren't making any mistakes. Through the act of repetition, you learn to feel comfortable. You feel secure in knowing that you are making the right decision. You have a safety net. You are able to bounce questions off your instructors. You develop critical thinking skills because the instructors are making you answer your own question. You adapt to the scenario and think around a process until you come to a rational conclusion. At the end, I didn't wonder if I would make it on my own without those safety nets. I just knew I would. I prepared, I learned, I thought and I came to the right conclusions. It's comforting to know that my future will be filled with doing something I love to do.

I'm not done however. I plan on going on as far as I can, or at least as far as my wife will let me. I want to teach people. I want to diagnose and treat people. It's important to me. That's where the passion comes in. I love what I am learning. I retain it like a sponge. I consider myself lucky to have found a passion in life where going to work is not a dreaded adventure, rather it is an opportunity to improve someone's quality of life. I can use my humor for something positive rather than something to annoy people. Laughter is the best medicine. It's cheap and available to all. In the 3rd grade, I used humor to get myself into trouble. I knew then that some day, humor will be a tool I use in my career. God gave me a gift of gab, or laughter, to use for the betterment of others.

Now I know why...